


faith

by Hinterlands



Series: Let Not My Prayers a Doubtful Answer Find [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asphyxiation, Breathplay, F/F, josephine has a kink and cass warms up to indulging her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinterlands/pseuds/Hinterlands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josephine proposes something unconventional; Cassandra attempts to acclimate herself to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agenthill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/gifts).



> This is part of a long-overdue fic trade with ao3 user rory [agenthill;](http://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill) they requested some breathplay featuring Cassandra and Josephine, and I obliged....many, many weeks later.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: breathplay is a relatively unsafe sex practice, so exercise caution in emulating any work of fiction that portrays it!

Two fingers laid against the side of her throat, skin beneath her fingertips warm and satiny, a strong, steady hummingbird pulse thrumming beneath; Cassandra exhales, slowly, shifts her grip, feels Josephine’s heart flutter in response. Tongue thick in her mouth, dry as brush-grass, clumsy syllables clattering together as they fall from her lips; “You are certain that you want me to do this to you? _Absolutely_ certain?”

(Question as fresh on her tongue is it was the first, second,  _thousandth_ time; Josephine’s eyes flicker open (she is leaned against the headboard, blouse loose about her shoulders, the pins pulled from her hair and piled upon the bedside table to to allow it to tumble loose of its customary chignon, soft curls resting almost artfully against the line of her throat, relaxed where Cassandra is fairly jangling with the enormity of this request), her expression patient, gaze speaking volumes of resigned exasperation).

“ _Yes,_ Cassandra,” she replies, voice steadier than the Seeker’s hand feels against the wall of her throat. “You _have_ asked me that many times before— _at length_ \--and my answer remains the same. Yes, I would like you to—”

 _“Choke_ you,” Cassandra finishes, a faint warmth suffusing her face, splotchy flush climbing the pillar of her throat. “I still do not understand why—”

“It is not something that is easy to understand.” It’s Josephine’s turn to interrupt, color risen high in her cheeks. “And perhaps it is not something that is meant to be understood. It…is a preference, that is all.”

(This conversation is cyclical, meant to delay, and they are both _excruciatingly_ aware of it; when Josephine first brought the idea to her, soft-mouthed, in the dark of their shared room, Cassandra’s rejection of it was swift and instinctual, perhaps tinged with undeserved offense; did Josephine believe her to be able to take pleasure in the _possibility_ of hurting her? The silence that followed was swift and crushing, and Josephine spoke no more of it for several weeks, and Cassandra left the topic to fester at the back of her skull; but, inevitably, their stilted talk brought them circling back to it, certain as a summer storm.

 _Trust,_ Josephine had explained a week prior; _it is centered on trust, and the ability to relinquish control to another person. I put my life in your hands, in essence._

 _And if you lose consciousness? If—Maker forbid—I make some mistake?_ Cassandra’s throat raw, her skin prickling, hands clenched tightly in her lap as she perched upon the end of the bed. _I do not wish to hurt you._ Tremor in her voice that she despised herself for, somewhere down deep.

_We can go slowly. I do not want to force you to indulge me, Cassandra, only—_

_No. I would like to._ Soft, shuddery breath. _Allow me to acclimate myself to the idea. That is all.)_

 

* * *

 

And now, here Cassandra kneels, one hand pressed against the soft V of flesh just beneath Josephine’s chin, muscles locked, jaw tight; her voice is hoarse, when she next speaks, her words slow, hesitant; “You remember the signal we decided upon?”

“Three taps on the arm,” Josephine replies, softly, calmly, pulse throbbing against Cassandra’s palm. “And you will watch me to ensure that I remain conscious.”  
  
“Yes,” Cassandra affirms, hoarsely, pulling in a breath. The moment Josephine’s eyes glaze—the instant it seems that she may even conceivably be injured beyond what she expects—the Seeker will relinquish her grip, pull away, consign the topic to the blackest pit of the Void, and never acquiesce to it again. It is worth it to see Josephine so pleased, she supposes, for now; as much as she would dislike admitting it to anyone—perhaps even Josephine herself—she would move heaven and earth for a _glimpse_ of the peaceful smile gracing the ambassador’s lips at this moment.

So, Cassandra leans forward, applying the lightest of pressure to Josephine’s throat, constricting the delicate trachea; Josephine’s breathing stutters, and Cassandra’s grip subsequently falters, heart hammering in her throat. Slender brown fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, Josephine’s gaze almost baleful; her voice still strong, still steady: “I’m perfectly fine, Cassandra. Please, continue.”

Slow exhalation as her hand presses forwards and upwards again; Josephine’s breaths slow, falter, Cassandra’s hand wracked by tremors, but the application of pressure still careful, still constant. The Seeker’s eyes are fixed on Josephine’s face, anxiety in the set of her jaw, the twist of her mouth. Josephine’s expression, on the other hand, is—nothing short of _rapturous_ , lips parted, chest heaving shallowly, eyes fixed on Cassandra’s, one hand still grasping her shirt.

(This could easily be a form of atonement, Cassandra supposes, a form of prayer, easing the pressure on Josephine’s throat as that trio of taps lands solidly upon her bicep; she finds that it is easier to think of it this way, that it inspires less guilt; Josephine’s expression in that moment was surely her own at the climax of her Seeker initiation, the release of so many months of tension and uncertainty, the few moments of pure, white-shrouded bliss. Hand to throat, pressing back and up, closing the windpipe, embers licking the bottom curve of one’s ribs, lungs burning like Andraste upon her pyre; yes, she can think of it more comfortably, now, as an exercise in faith; if not faith placed in the Maker, then faith placed in Cassandra herself.)

This hold goes on for only an instant longer before Josephine asks with skittering fingers if she may ease her grip; the soft, heady gasps the ambassador takes in are still gut-wrenching, but Cassandra finds herself growing used to it, admiring the color in Josephine’s cheeks, the tight press of her thighs.

“Again?” Cassandra asks, softly, taking advantage of the momentary lapse to press her face against Josephine’s scalp, shift her thumb to the pulse-point of her throat, feel the reassurance of the ambassador’s pulse thud against the pad of it. Josephine nods, panting softly, pressing close. “In a moment, my love. Let me…”

“Of course.” Cassandra is content to wait, after all, and ponder; this is not such an awful thing as she had initially feared, really. Not such an awful thing at all. So long as she remains conscious of her strength, and squeezes only hard enough to provide adequate pressure—

—soft lips, sweet breath, Josephine’s nose crinkled in bemusement as she startles, shaken from her reverie. Another kiss pressed to the corner of her mouth, a third to the tip of her nose, gratitude in the cant of Josephine’s lips. “Thank you for indulging me, my love. I realize that you are not _fond_ of these activities, but—”

“I am not,” Cassandra breaks in, softly, but firmly. “But this…if you enjoy it this much, I suppose it is permissible.” Face hot, warmth roiling in the pit of her stomach, body edging closer; Josephine seems to catch on, after a moment, her smile taking on a wry cast. “Permissible. I see.”

“Oh, shut up.” _That_ inspires a soft, chiming laugh, Josephine’s fingers curled around her wrist, lips soft against Cassandra’s own.

“Once more, then? We needn’t go so far the first time.”

Cassandra nods; one hand wrapped around Josephine’s throat, squeezing, pressing, free hand resting against Josephine’s thigh.

(This time, the exaltation takes them both.)

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ i wrote my ticket


End file.
